boy next door
by straw8erries
Summary: in which riley is kind of thankful that she has a driver's license and farkle freeloads but it's alright because he's farkle minkus and she likes the way he looks in a snapback hat —riley/farkle


**boy next door**

 **note1** i _breathe_ for riarkle ok bye  
 **note2** idk if i like this piece if i was being honest (also unbeta'd) i'm going to have to try again with these two but ! my otp  
 **note3** i'm fucking 18 why am i obsessed with this disney show for preteens  
 **listening** baby i'm yours — arctic monkeys

 **summary** au / in which riley is kind of thankful that she has a driver's license and farkle freeloads but it's alright because he's farkle minkus and she likes the way he looks in a snapback hat.

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He's the boy next door, literally. She's backing out of the driveway to go to school when the mover's truck pulls in to her left. She doesn't think much as to who exactly her new neighbors could be but realizes in hindsight that maybe she should have given it more thought.

It's because he flips her world upside down: she returns home after school — sweaty forehead, heavy backpack, rumpled school uniform — she locks the car door behind her and he's there, standing in her neighboring front yard, across the bushes.

"Hi," he says with a pensive wave of the hand, smile spreading from ear to ear. He's wearing a snapback hat, and even though she normally dislikes that kind of styling on boys, she kind of likes it on him. There is a sense of innocence, cheekiness, mischief. His eyes are blue and shining. "I'm Farkle, your new next door neighbor, in case you didn't notice," he gestures to his house.

"I noticed," she says nonchalantly, and failing, smoothing out her skirt.

He's looking at her pointedly now, and all of a sudden she feels a bit self-conscious. "Your name's Riley, right?" he asks, and his eyes are still smiling in half moon crescents and she feels her breath caught in her throat.

"Riley Matthews," she replies softly, tender on her lips.

(And that's how it starts: two teenagers separated by a green hedge, her head peeking over the bushes and his shoes untied. It is junior year in high school and that's when Riley decides that maybe the rest of high school won't be as bad as she thought.)

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It becomes kind of a routine: their after school chats in their front yards — sometimes in his, sometimes in hers — just sitting on the front porch steps in their school uniforms, feet tapping on the pavement.

At first, he rides the bus because he simply has no choice, but eventually he guilt-trips Riley into driving him to and from school, since she has a car and all. _Once I get my license and get a car, I'll make it up to you._ he promises while trying to convince her with excessive winks and painfully cheesy facial expressions. _Ew, gross,_ she would shove his shouder, and _oops, I almost fell out the window!_ — he cries. She grins wide. _Serves you right._

She doesn't think he's going to get his driver's license soon because he makes no move to even start studying for written permit test, let alone put his hands on a steering wheel. But she gives in anyway, because he is Farkle and she might as well give the poor next-door neighbor a ride once in a while.

"Here," he gets into the car one day, handing her an ice cream bar.

She gives him a questioning look.

"Take the payment before I decide to eat it myself," he simply says, while unwrapping his own ice cream sandwich.

Riley rolls her eyes. "Alright."

(And so they sit there in the school parking lot, silent in the car save for the slurping of ice cream and Riley's occasional giggle at the mess on his face. _Pig_ , she snorts, and maybe it's the way he looks at her all proud and smug and all, but she decides that she really doesn't find him all that annoying. Quite the contrary, to be honest.

It was lonely before, she can admit to herself later, because Maya got a part-time job at the YMCA teaching art classes. She has a boyfriend too, maybe, if that's what you call the boy who holds your books everyday, and she really likes him, but this is different.)

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One day, she knocks on his window, tears streaming down her face.

"What happened?"

Her words are broken. "Lucas, he—I think he doesn't—I'm scared," she hiccups.

He gulps, noticing that she's trembling like crazy and his heart is broken for her. Farkle say anything about how she came to his window, not Maya's. His best friends are all kind of stupid, he knows. So he wordlessly ushers her in, handing her a box of tissues and brewing hot tea for her even though he sucks at making it. She tries to hide her sniffles but he tells her to let it all out, that everything will be ok.

(The next weekend she's at his house again with a box of chick flick DVDs, and Farkle doesn't miss the way she looks sadly and longingly at the romances unfolding before her. She would cry easily at all the heartbreaking parts, and he almost thinks that those are real tears of hers — and then he realizes he's never seen Riley cry before. He shakes his head in disbelief.

 _Sorry for being such a crybaby,_ she apologizes incessantly, but he murmurs that it's alright.

 _It's alright, it's alright, it's alright_ , he repeats, rubbing her back.

In hindsight, Riley knows that this is when it all truly started.)

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Riley doesn't think anyone is too surprised when she breaks up with Lucas. No one had known they were dating int he first place. After all, Lucas and Maya have been voted Cutest Couple almost five years in a row.

It's really something when you realize your boyfriend since the seventh grade is in love with your best friend before he does.

She keeps smiling. It's what she does, these days.

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It's fall now and the sun sits a little lower in the sky, its vibrant colors reflecting off the autumn leaves. Backs against the grassy expanse in his backyard, shoulders almost touching, breathing in the cool breeze. Maya is coming over to have dinner, she thinks idly. He reaches over to pick a fallen leaf off her sweater.

"Hey Farkle?"

"Yes?"

"Nevermind." When Farkle turns to face her though, she's smiling. And Riley knows that he knows what's in her heart, her thankfulness for his presence in her life, for being a friend who is always there, even though they've known each other for a few months. It has felt like a forever in these past few months — doing homework together over the phone, car rides, donut runs, amusement park excursions, breakfast at the Matthews.

It's the most fun she's had in a while and she's almost too afraid to admit to herself that maybe this boy lying next to her means more to her than she thinks.

"Hey Farkle?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He chuckles. "Thank _you_."

A laugh bubbles from her throat. "No, thank _you_."

"But I'm thank you, too," he puts his hands up in the air in defense.

She gives him a good shove. "Just accept it, Farkle."

He sits up and stares at her from above. "And I could say the same thing to you." His eyes are twinkling and he has a stupid grin on his face so she sits up too.

"Ugh, fine. You ruined the moment." Pouts.

He winks. "That's my specialty."

(She would probably disagree though — his specialty is probably making things funnier, more exciting. His specialty is making her feel special, for bringing a smile to her face when she's down. Even the moments that he "ruins" — they are moments for her to remember.)

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Riley's family is throwing a new year's party, and her house is filled with guests — mostly her parents' co-workers and friends and family. She is kind of disgusted at the way her parents act all lovey-dovey in front of others. She scoffs and drags Farkle to her room to watch Netflix.

"You would think that we would be spending New Year's Eve in a less lame way," he comments, as they settle down in front of his laptop.

"You're lame," she retorts. "I mean, what else do we do? Get a fake ID and go out clubbing or something?" She rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the screen.

His face brightens. "You know, Maya did say—" He shuts up when she glares at him. "I mean, we could still go outside?"

So they escape out her bedroom window to sit on the roof. It's not exactly a club blaring with music and overflowing with alcohol, but it's exciting just the same — if exciting is the right word to describe Farkle's half-serious-half-not-so-serious teasing about pushing Maya off the roof. A trip to the hospital is not a way that Riley would want to spend her New Year's Eve.

There are shouts coming from the living room below them now. "Five! Four!" they start coming down.

Riley almost jumps off the roof on her own accord when she feels Farkle's arm around her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmurs next to her, eyes gazing at the sky.

"Three! Two! One!" the loud chatter from inside grows exponentially culminating in a bunch of cheers and toasts. "Happy new year, everyone!"

Riley turns to face him but instead finds her nose buried in his chest. Her pulse quickens unexpectedly and she panics when she realizes that he isn't moving away. But he's holding on to her tightly, as if shielding her from the cold. "Look," he says, pointing in the distance.

She hears the loud crackling sound before she sees it. To the west, fireworks explode in the night sky, lights reflecting in their eyes.

"Happy new year," he says, and she can barely hear him over all the noise.

"Happy new year to you, too," she nearly shouts back, and his arm is still around her and it kind of feels comfortable.

(After a while, the fireworks spectacle ends and Farkle gives her a cheeky smile. She can feel her heart hammering. She doesn't know when it happened but eventually, she falls asleep in his arms, and by the time she wakes up with the sun upon her face, she's in the comfort of her own bed. And that's when she wonders if the previous night had all been a dream.

It's not, she realizes, when she checks her phone and there's a text from him.

 _Last night was nice :)_

And she thinks "nice" might be an understatement.)

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She wonders if it will be awkward from now on, after the, er, incident, on New Year's. But when he rings her doorbell the next day to hand out (thank goodness for winter break) and greets her with the same old smile with no sign of tension whatsoever, she breathes a sigh of relief.

"What are we doing today?" she asks him.

He shrugs. "What you want. We didn't get to watch Netflix yesterday."

"I thought you said it was lame," she side-eyes him.

But Riley decides against spending a whole day locked up in her room and instead opts for stuffing herself with food ( _I mean, what else would you do on a day off?_ she asks, and he nods in agreement). And so they adventure downtown to Topanga's and drool over the samples in the windows. They spend all their allowance money on cakes and pastries and pies and Riley has never had such an unhealthy breakfast, but who's complaining?

She ignores his teasing at watching her calories because she knows that he really doesn't care, despite his annoying jabs. _After all, look who's talking_ , she rolls her eyes, as he shoves things oh-so-gracefully in his mouth.

It is overall quite satisfying, except maybe for the food baby settling down in her stomach.

(And so many things haven't changed at all. But maybe secretly in her heart she hopes they did.)

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Winter melts into spring but Riley doesn't really care because she's suffocating in her room with Maya, studying for midterms. She's not really in the mood for anything other than curling into a ball and sleeping for a good two weeks straight. One Saturday afternoon, after she's dropped Maya off at volleyball practice, when the sun comes out from behind the clouds, Riley stubbornly closes her window curtains and stares at her history textbook until her eyes almost water.

Her daze is disrupted by a loud tapping on the window. She covers her ears, muttering, "It better not be who I think it is." But when the tapping continues, she rolls her eyes and whips the curtains open.

"Lame," she shouts through the open window.

He's standing in her front yard, looking like he's ready to throw up rainbows judging from the ear-to-ear smile on his face. She heaves a sigh. She's really not feeling it today.

"What was that for?" he asks, feigning hurt at her insult.

"Lame, I said. You're so lame," she repeats, throwing him daggers with her eyes.

"Sheesh, I was just dropping by to say hi."

"Okay, fine. Hi," she responds. "Happy now? Don't you have midterms to study for?" He's a genius though, she probably shouldn't have bothered asking. Riley is smart because she's responsible, because she works really really hard. Some people ( _ugh_ , Farkle) are so lucky.

He shrugs, an easy confidence in the roll of his shoulders. "I'm not worried. I'd get the highest grade in class even if I didn't even come on exam day."

She's about to unleash a flurry of scolding but five minutes later, she finds herself down in the front yard with him and that's when she sees that the petunias are blooming.

(He picks off a flower for her and jokingly gets on one knee. She takes it and later he steals it back to put behind her lips. His mouth look kind of kissable today and she can't even believe she's even thinking about Farkle Minkus' mouth. It must be the mixture of the blinding sun and lack of sleep, she thinks to herself.

But he's thinking the same thing anyway.)

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It's the end of the school year and it suddenly hits her that she has one year left of high school. That's a little thought gnawing at the back of her head (one more year left with Maya and Lucas and Zay — one more year left with him — but she convinces herself that she can avoid it, somehow) and she looks next to her in the passenger seat to see a sleepy Farkle. She breathes a sigh of relief, kind of wishing that she can keep this moment forever, even if it means Farkle never gets his driver's license and she's stuck driving him around for the rest of her life.

That is, until he wakes up, wiping his eyes groggily and turns to stare in her direction; his gaze is caught in hers — magnetic, almost. She brakes at a stop sign and she's sure she's been engrossed in those eyes of his for more than the standard two-second stop sign waiting time. He can probably hear her heart.

His eyes travel down her face and her jaw clenches, tension in the air.

"Uh—"

He silences her with a quick peck on the lips, but it sort of feels like an eternity, captured in a split second, hearts racing with all the excitement of youth and adrenaline. They pull away, breathless — because all of this is still new to her, this love business, because Lucas was just a first crush, because maybe she can't really imagine having this with anyone else but him.

She smiles shyly, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. It's weird, but she thinks of her mother and her father and Maya and Lucas and takes a few deep breaths, continues driving home, eyes fixed on the road ahead. She can feel him breathing next to her, ears red and fingers trembling a little bit. She catches him grinning to himself when she tears her gaze from the road to look at the mirror.

(And she finds herself laughing, kind of uncontrollably, for no reason at all. Because all of this is simply ridiculous — two next-door neighbors who are best friends for only one year but it already feels like she's fallen for him a million times too many like she's known him forever. Sneaking kisses at a stop sign in an old beat-up car, his hand gentle against her bare knees as she drives home.

They end up on the couch that afternoon, snuggled up in a blanket with the AC on full blast, browsing Netflix and eating popcorn, with Auggie between them. It kind of feels like the chick flicks on the silver screen are no longer elusive concepts to her, and perhaps she has found something of her own. Sometimes he presses his nose in her hair and she settles a bit deeper into his chest — and she doesn't know when they crossed the boundary between friends and _something more_ but maybe she wouldn't have it any other way.)

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And so they spend the summer kind of like that, filling up their days with naps on the grass and water fights at the each, movie nights with the gang and dinner dates and failed barbecues. It's not horribly exciting but she likes the simplicity. Nothing has changed. Because it is Riley and Farkle, who met on their front lawns — she doesn't know if it can get any simpler than that. He brings her flowers and ice cream bars and it's pretty much the most romantic thing to happen in her life aside from Charlie Gardner in the seventh grade. But Charlie had been overwhelming, then. She feels comfortable with Farkle. It's the same kind of comfort as wearing soft sweaters and holding Maya's hand.

So she rests in that simplicity, choosing not to worry about the future and instead enjoy the stretch in time that they may have together. They are young with the world ahead of them and maybe it's better to see what happens.

They're walking into school on the first day of senior year, hands clasped together tightly.

"Hey Farkle?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks. You know, for—"

He bends down to press his lips against her cheek.

"It's my pleasure," he whispers in her ear.

The butterflies churn in her stomach and she decides that the feeling isn't really that bad. Not bad at all, really.

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End file.
